


Robin Karlsson and Guy of Notre-Dame

by MeansToOffend (goodmorning)



Series: 31 in 31: NHL Fairy Tales [16]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen, Ottawa Senators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 03:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12147912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorning/pseuds/MeansToOffend
Summary: "Now, Karlsson was a famous outlaw, known well for poaching the King’s game, for only the nobility were allowed to play hockey. Nevertheless, he was widely known to be supremely skilled. It was said that none had ever lived who could handle the puck as quickly and cleanly as he, who could skate with such grace or shoot with such precision."





	Robin Karlsson and Guy of Notre-Dame

Near merry Ottawa, in a time of old, lived a merry fellow with his merry men in the forests of Gatineau. This fellow’s name was Erik Karlsson, but owing to his apparel being the red of a robin’s breast, those who knew him had dubbed him Robin.

Now, Karlsson was a famous outlaw, known well for poaching the King’s game, for only the nobility were allowed to play hockey. Nevertheless, he was widely known to be supremely skilled. It was said that none had ever lived who could handle the puck as quickly and cleanly as he, who could skate with such grace or shoot with such precision.

So Robin and his men dwelt lightly in the forests, and each fall they were alight with joy when the wintry weather came at last, for hockey would soon return.

It was in one such time that Robin Karlsson found himself walking with his closest alternate captain.

“What a fine morning,” he proclaimed, drawing in a breath. “Ah, the way the air nips. It smells of hockey, and of adventure. Let us go separate ways, and meet here with some new teammates tonight.”

“With all my heart,” Lanky Kyle responded, “for this sounds an excellent time, and I should love to out-recruit you on a day so fine as this.”

And so they parted, in laughter and competition, sticks slung over their shoulders.

Karlsson walked on through crisp winter air for some short time, until he stumbled upon a man sitting on a stump at the edge of a frozen pond. This man was armed to the teeth, and swathed in a cloak of bear skin. His face was hooded by the bruin’s mouth, but as he turned to face Karlsson, a scar flashed into view on his cheek. He held himself as one dangerous.

“Hallo, friend!” Karlsson called to him. “Who is it that I have met on this fine morning?”

The man stood, pushing the hood back from his face, and said only, “And who are you?”

“Well, that depends entirely on why you’re asking, doesn’t it?”

“I am looking for the man they call Robin, for I am Guy of Notre-Dame, and the Commissioner has called upon me to bring the outlaw in, dead or alive.”

“A bounty hunter, then,” Karlsson said. “Truly, I would imagine this Robin would be amused to meet you. They say he is the fittest man in these parts.”

Guy snorted, looking around. “That doesn’t necessarily mean much.”

“In that case, I bet that I, though but a humble player, can nevertheless beat you in a one-on-on game of hockey.”

“Fine,” replied Guy, and put on his skates.

It was an intense battle at first, but it quickly became apparent that Karlsson was the far better of the two. At last, Guy sank gasping onto the shore, crying “Yield!”

“If you can’t defeat me I don’t think you can ever defeat Robin,” Karlsson replied.

“No, perhaps not,” Guy agreed. “But who has had the pleasure in my defeat?”

“My name is Erik Karlsson, but my friends call me Robin.”

“In that case,” said Guy, reaching for his stick, “I would like to join your band.”

“Oh,” Karlsson said. “Well, you do have a good eye for the game. Why not? But first, lend me your cloak. I want to go mess with the Commissioner.”

In the meantime, Lanky Kyle had gone the other way to his captain, and shortly ran across a man who appeared to be in great distress.

“Ho, fellow, pray tell me who you are, and speak of your troubles, that I might ease them.”

“I’m Clarke, but if you’re not Robin I shall have to keep going until I find him.”

“I am not Robin, but I am his second in command. Will that do, for you?”

“Yes, that’s better than I expected. It’s like this: my three brothers are Derick, Mike, and Mark, and they were caught by the Commissioner playing a pickup hockey game in our backyard rink. They’re to be hanged today, unless someone can do something.”

“Ah, would that Karlsson were here to speak as well, but I see my duty plain. Find me some clothes that I may disguise myself, and we can go to rescue them at once.”

“Disguise?”

“Yes, if I were seen there without, the Commissioner would surely hang me much sooner than your brothers.”

The two of them journeyed to the tavern the Commissioner was known to favour, and arrived just in time to see the Commissioner and his men leading Clarke’s three brothers to a large tree across the way.

Clarke was then nearly given to despair, seeing them lined up with their necks in the hangman’s nooses, but Lanky Kyle simply took out his stick and several pucks, the edges of which glinted sharply in the winter sun. Three shots, three ropes cut, and Clarke’s brothers were among the trees before anyone knew what was happening. At last the Commissioner spotted him, shouting for his men to capture him, but Lanky Kyle was too fast. He dropped another puck, winding up, and all the men stopped.

“What are you waiting for, cowards? After him!” cried the Commissioner, but none moved. So the Commissioner began to run at Lanky Kyle himself. But alas! Ere the shot left the ground, his trusty stick snapped, and the puck lay harmless at his feet. Then did the Commissioner’s men run at him, and soon he found himself overwhelmed by the odds.

It was when they had led him to the tree that a man appeared, clad in the skin of a bear and bearing Karlsson’s stick, and Lanky Kyle was in anguish, for he knew Karlsson would not have given it up willingly. “Now shall I die without a care, as one so good-hearted is dead, slain by your villainy!”

The Commissioner ignored this. “What reward will you claim, Guy of Notre-Dame, that have slain my bitterest enemy?”

“Only that I be allowed to slay this rogue,” the man replied.

“You might have had the treasury! But no matter, you shall have this man instead.”

“Lean him against the tree, then, for I would do this by hand.”

The Commissioner’s men disliked this request, for a slaying in cold blood was not right nor proper, but they did as commanded, and retreated as far as they could as the bear-clad man took out his dagger.

“Here is my heart!” cried Lanky Kyle. “Stab me, then, as it is fitting that my captain and I should die by the same hand!”

“But you know me not,” said Karlsson, and cut Lanky Kyle’s bonds, sweeping his hood off and handing him a spare stick.

When the Commissioner saw that Karlsson was yet alive, he paled and ran, his men following quickly after. But he could not outrun a puck, and for several weeks after he found it very uncomfortable indeed to sit down.

Thus they went back to the forest, their band grown by five men and their friendship greatly increased.

And thus ended this brave adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> \- So today is not the last day of double updates because this one got away from me a little. I'll do two tomorrow and then back to singles instead of burning a buffer story.  
> \- Robin Hood vs Guy of Gisbourne is probably one of the better-known Robin Hood stories. This one is based on the Pyle which actually weaves two stories together but I think is the one everyone's likely to be familiar with.  
> \- Guy Boucher was born in Notre-Dame-du-Lac.


End file.
